


Restraint

by varooooom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anonymous Sex, M/M, Multi, PWP, Public Sex, semi-prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one time Arthur follows Gwaine's suggestion turns out to be the most wonderful bad life decision he's ever made, and Merlin still has an affinity for the stocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU set at a situationally incorrect and implausible and predictably porn-specific outlandish Renaissance Faire. That's a mouthful! So is this fic.
> 
> Warnings: trading money for sex, but everything's consensual for kinky fun.

Arthur knows about the stocks at the Renaissance Faire. Not that he's ever _been_ , it's all a bit too overtly campy for him, but he's heard every story there is to tell. Like clockwork, every lesson after the big weekend, his mates come stumbling into lecture, laughing obscenely and complaining that their arse is still sore. All in good fun; five quid to toss your friend (or yourself, if that's your thing. nobody's judging) up into the false restraints to be flogged before the drunken, cheering crowds in medieval garb or whatever even remotely old agey clothes they can come about. Three good taps and you're on your way with red cheeks, both face and bum. Sounds simple enough.

But Arthur also knows about the _other_ stocks.

These, you won't hear tell of in the middle of a crowded classroom or even out on the football field. No, those stories are saved for cosy nights around the telly with only the closest of friends and a few beers deep before someone mentions it in passing, hushed and offhand like a secret you're only pretending you don't care about.

And in a way, it _is_ a secret. It's something only known by those that _know_ , tucked away in the depths of the Faire where the music gets louder and the shadows get darker and people lose just a little more of their inhibitions. Which should seem bloody _impossible_ , because as far as Arthur's aware, the whole damn event's just an excuse to get pissed and act rowdy in public - but so it goes.

And so it goes.

When the season comes 'round again and Gwaine gives Arthur an elbow and a wink, practically shoving a ticket at him, he closes his eyes and counts to ten before heading out and telling himself it's just to one day to see what all the fuss is about. And even before he's reached the park that the Faire devours to set up its festivities, all of his previous notions are confirmed. Girls running about in skimpy pirate Halloween costumes and men in slightly more authentic looking pirate costumes that speak in false accents and jeer at the aforementioned ladies. There's turkey legs the size of Arthur's calves and several booths devoted to the singular purpose of plying the masses with beer. He sees a 'Ye Olde Telecom' booth and has just long enough to think _that's not very medieval_ before he sees the landmarker the lads were telling him about the night before.

One more steeling breath and a mental note to punch Gwaine (and maybe Percival too, though the good five stone he's got on Arthur is reason enough to defer the punch to Gwaine), and Arthur heads off towards _The_ Stocks. He wasn't sure he believed them when they first told him about it however many years ago now, but after following the most absurd subtle little clues - notches carved into posts pointing the opposite direction, or at one point, a boot dangling in a tree with some gal's bra on it - the stage finally comes into view and Arthur loses his grip on reality, because there's just no fucking way.

But there is. There abso-bloody-lutely _is_. Because at one end of the park, you can burn a few pounds to get your friends tapped on the arse, and at the other end of the park, you can burn a few pounds to tap your friends. On the arse.

Or _in_ , as is the case now. Leon'd told him that sometimes you'll come across either or, and at the mo', Arthur's staring wide eyed at some skinny little bloke stark naked and blindfolded getting shagged by what looks like a bastardised version of Peter Pan. Childhood ruined, thanks a ton, but God above, if it isn't a sight to see.

Arthur doesn't realise he's stepped closer until the sharp cut of the restrained man's cheekbones jump out in the orange light of the false torches planted around the park and the bloke running the booth looks up at him from a seat not too far away and speaks to him.

"Ah, evenin', milord," he grins, and Arthur feels oddly discomforted by the thick eyeliner he's wearing that makes him look even seedier. "Care to fill the lovely wench's even lovelier mouth? I can tell you this much, 's practically _gagging_ for it."

Arthur looks back down to the mop of dark hair that's being held in place by the wood about his neck, mouth open with harsh pants as the man on the other end plunders his body (and Arthur tries valiantly not to take into consideration the fact he's also dressed as a pirate and that he's staking claim to some booty. No giggling when you're being offered blowjobs). He absently reaches out to cup his jaw and run his thumb along his plump red lips, and the man turns his head just enough to take the digit into his mouth and start sucking. Arthur's knees go weak and he can't believe he's actually fucking considering this, what the buggering bloody Hell -

"Yeah, all right," he says gruffly, and withdraws his hand to go for his wallet, but the man in the stocks tilts his head up as though to look at him through the blindfold.

"No," he says suddenly, "No, just, _ah_ , please -"

Arthur looks to the runner who just shrugs then gives a vague wave of his hand that apparently means _go ahead and fuck this random man's mouth free of charge, cheers._

God help him.

His fingers seem too large and clumsy as he fumbles for his zip, and the guy on the other end starts picking up his pace, which makes Shaggy Hair gasp and jerk forward in his restraints.

"Please, I want it, please."

Slowly, nervously, Arthur pushes forward just enough to brush his lips with the head, but the man takes it upon himself to open his mouth and take it on his tongue, licking at his slit and around the crown before closing his lips and sucking Arthur in further.

"Oh God," he groans, steadying himself against the faux-wooden contraption. The sounds of flesh slapping flesh and some random pirate's grunting on the other side barely reach him as he loses himself to the heat of this man's anonymous, questionable, _glorious_ mouth. His scope of the world narrows down to his creamy pale skin and beautiful lips stretching around his cock, the feeling of him sucking and licking and _moaning_ around him, and Lord, have mercy, this is best he's ever felt.

It occurs to him that the man's range of motion is severely limited by the locks around his neck and wrists, so Arthur tentatively gives a little _push_ that he responds to encouragingly with a hum that vibrates all the way down Arthur's prick to his toes. Arthur moans then, starts moving in small little thrusts that drag his aching cock across the velvety smooth expanse of his tongue. His breath grows heavy and there's an unfamiliar tingling in his spine as he watches his length disappear into an unknown mouth, inch by inch, and the man just _takes it_ , swallows it all down.

"You're beautiful, you know," Arthur says without really meaning to, but it's true, glaringly true, even with his unruly mess of hair and the ears that don't quite hide behind it. He's all long, white limbs that look stronger than you'd think, and his _voice_ , God. It was ultimately his incredible voice that got Arthur to make this insanely bad decision. He brings one of his hands down to stroke along the man's reddening cheek and follow the line of his jaw where it's held wide around him. "Gorgeous."

He's close now, unusually quickly, likely for the absurd circumstances and the burning shame and arousal that keep him thrusting into this man's mouth, and his hand slips from his jaw into the dark strands of hair at his nape. The movement jostles the blindfold and causes it to slide off to the ground, exposing long black eyelashes against pale, pale skin. When he opens his eyes and looks up at Arthur, the deep, wondrous blue seems to flash briefly gold in the odd lighting. It startles Arthur's orgasm from him with a gasp, his hips slamming forward as he comes down Random Blue Eyed Beauty's throat with his hand gripping tightly in his hair.

Arthur stumbles back a step afterwards, breathing heavily, and the man's eyes follow him with his own laboured gasps. It's then that Arthur realises the other bloke must've finished up some time ago without him noticing, so entranced as he was, and it's just the three of them left in the dark clearing filled with distant music. Shaggy Hair watches him a second longer, then quirks his lips (bright red, spit slicked lips, Jesus _fuck_ ) into a smirk before turning to the booth runner.

"Vatican cameos," he says roughly, and the man nods affirmatively before getting up to release him. He stands and stretches out, arms raised over his head and cracking his neck, and the sight steals Arthur's breath away all over again. Stark naked in wide open space, looking for all the world like he's just rolled out of bed and couldn't be more at home.

Once he's rolled out all the kinks of staying in that position for so long, he looks back over to Arthur with an inviting smile and nods towards a nearby tent before heading inside. Arthur looks around nervously, unsure of what post-anonymous blowjob protocol is because he doesn't _do_ things like this, but the booth runner gives him a _the fuck're you waiting for, go hit that_ sort of eyebrow raise, and he skirts along if only to spare himself that awkward knowing Look.

Inside is a rather simple layout of a wash basin, a bed of pillows and blankets, and Shaggy Hair jumping into his skinny jeans. No historically inaccurate costumes for him either, it seems, which makes Arthur smile for some inexplicable reason. He folds his arms across his chest.

"A Sherlock safe word? Really?"

"Oi, don't judge. Only heathens live in England and don't love the BBC." He looks up at him then, just as he's fastening his belt, and grins widely and openly in an overwhelmingly sincere gesture, like he's offering everything he has in one toothy smile. Maybe he is. "Hey." 

Arthur can't help but laugh airily at how friendly it is after what just happened. It sounds something like relief. "Hey."

The man's still shirtless and shoeless, so after a shared smile, he turns to dig up the rest of his clothes from around the tent. Arthur contents himself with watching the disgraceful and inelegant movements, something weirdly close to fondness on his lips. 

"What's your name?" Arthur asks suddenly. The man turns around, head still inside his shirt, then pulls it down to ruffle his hair even further. It's impossibly endearing, and Arthur laughs again, which only makes the bloke grin in turn.

"Think you're going about this all backwards, mate."

"Hmm," Arthur hums in contemplation, suddenly emboldened by the bizarre events of the day, and crosses the small space of the tent to come toe to toe with him. He presses their foreheads together, places his hands gently on the bony hips that peak out from his rumpled shirt. Kisses him softly at first, a warm press of pliant lips, then deeply with a rich sort of affection that doesn't make a lick of sense in this order of events. The man's hands find their way to Arthur's hair and he pulls him in closer, returning the kiss with equal fervour and a quiet smile.

Arthur pulls away just enough to speak against his lips and try once more, "What's your name?"

"Merlin," he exhales warmly.

"Well, _Mer_ lin," Arthur drawls in a tease, pressing their lips back together for another long, breathless moment. "I've had quite enough of the Ren Faire for a lifetime, and I think you have as well."

"Oh, fuck me. Are you going to be one of those controlling sorts already?" he whines in a complaint that is nowhere near a real complaint, grinning instead as they kiss in quick, short bursts between words. "You haven't even given me _your_ name, _Sire_."

"Arthur," he laughs, a consuming warmth filling the very air with something exhilarating in this simple, late exchange. It sounds something like a promise. "It's Arthur."


End file.
